


Vigil

by mardia



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-25
Updated: 2011-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:58:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt: "On the first anniversary of Captain America's death, the Howling Commandos get rip-roaring drunk. Ten days later, on the anniversary of the day Steve Rogers didn't keep their date, Peggy Carter goes back to the Stork Club. She doesn't dance." Written for Yuletide Madness 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [freneticfloetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/freneticfloetry/gifts).



“This seat taken, Agent Carter?”

Peggy raises an eyebrow as Howard Stark, not waiting for her reply, slides into the seat next to her, gesturing at the waiter to come over and take his order. He’s oblivious to her surprise or her raised eyebrow, so after a moment, Peggy returns to nursing her drink in silence.

“Had a feeling I’d find you here,” Howard explains as the waiter flits off. “Didn’t see you at the wake the Commandos held last week.”

“No, I didn’t attend,” Peggy says crisply, and Howard nods.

“Well, we missed you there,” Howard says. “Wasn’t the same without you.”

Peggy’s eyebrow shoots up again—was this really what he came here to tell her? But Howard’s not paying attention anymore, his gaze is out onto the dance floor, which is filled with people, as this is a very popular spot in New York. Handsome men in their suits, beautiful women in their brightly colored dresses, all of them whirling around in time to the music. It’s peacetime, and everyone’s happy.

There’s a blond man out on the dance floor, tall with broad shoulders, leaning in and whispering in his date’s ear. Peggy can’t see his face from this angle, but if she were to squint, she could almost pretend he was—

Except that Peggy’s not here to pretend. She’s here to remember. That man out there is not Steve Rogers, none of the men here are. And that’s why she’s not dancing. That is why she sits at her quiet table, nursing only one drink, and wishing that Howard, much as she likes him, would just—

“Hard to picture Steve in a place like this,” Howard comments next, and Peggy’s shoulders stiffen. It’s not hard for her at all to imagine Steve here, sitting next to her, perhaps drawing a quick sketch on his napkin of the scene in front of him.

It’s not hard at all to imagine him standing up and offering his hand, shyly leading her out to the floor where they would—

Peggy can imagine it, all too easily, which is why she refuses to do so.

Tonight, Peggy has ignored the advances—both verbal and unspoken—of every man that’s tried to approach her, and she’s turned down five offers to dance. She does not wish to dance, or chat, or even get rip-roaring drunk. She wants to sit here and quietly grieve, and Howard, much as she normally likes him—Howard is interfering with that.

Her mind set, Peggy turns in her seat to look at Howard, asking bluntly, “Howard, why are you here?”

Howard’s not looking at her, instead he’s scowling at his drink like it’s managed to personally offend him. “I knew about your date. With Steve. When you didn’t show up for the wake with the Commandos, I thought you might come out here instead, and I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.”

“That’s quite decent of you, Stark,” Peggy says after a moment, touched. “But you were wrong.” Howard finally looks up at that, his eyes wide with surprise, and Peggy explains, her voice kind, but firm, “I wanted to be alone tonight.” Howard opens his mouth like he’s going to protest, and Peggy raises a hand. “Steve’s not here. Steve is gone.” Her voice does not shake at that, something for which Peggy can be proud of. “I want to remember that. I want to remember _him_. And I want to do it by myself. Do you understand me?”

She waits for the dawning light in Howard’s eyes, and it arrives at last. Howard can be oblivious on occasion—like tonight—but he’s not a fool. He dips his head, a mixture of sheepishness and understanding on his face, and the knot in Peggy’s stomach eases just a bit. “Yeah,” Howard says. “I understand, Agent Carter.”

Howard gracefully gets up from his seat. “Good night, Agent Carter.” He pauses for a moment, and then takes her hand. Peggy thinks he’s going to kiss it, but instead he gives her a firm handshake, for which she is relieved. “Anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“I won’t,” Peggy assures him. "Thank you."

She doesn’t watch Howard leave. Instead, Peggy turns back to watch the dancers move across the floor, sipping at her drink, and thinking of a man who isn’t here at all.


End file.
